


Devotion

by t0talcha0s



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Sexual Content, some religious and violent allusions but nothing is spelled out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They know why they come together like this, fear and love and exhilaration; they stay for the same reasons, but Franky will never understand why Robin always feels the need to leave like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm out my depth now, you can't leave me all alone in this bed  
> Covered in your sweat and my fear  
> I could do with keeping you near  
> I could do with keeping you   
> \- Isabel, The Wombats

The bedroom is lit like an old church, with an orange tint and light that doesn't quite reach the corners of the room. It also holds the stillness of a holy place, some untouchable calm which makes it feel like time itself has stopped. The bed itself has simple white sheets, crisp and clean, a fresh blot of red staining them. The blood itself is but a mere trickle, a line stretching from pale thigh to white sheets, pooling into the cracks between woven linen and seeping onto the mattress. 

The woman on the bed doesn't seem to mind the blood, nor the coolness it brings on her leg. The blood does not threaten her clothing, only the sheets, as the bleeding leg sticks out of the side of her skirt. So in the face of no danger to her garb the woman's attention is on the book in her hands, an old tome filled with stories of some ancient mythology. She draws parallels in the tales to those mythos she already knows. As she turns a page she does address the blood, taking her thumb and swiping it across the shallow wound before placing the thumb in her mouth and barely batting an eye at the coppery taste. 

"Should I call in Chopper-bro to stitch you up?" Robin flicks her eyes up off her book, lowers her hand and flashes the man a coy smile. 

"Well he's dealing with the mangled body of a swordsman he's likely reviving from the dead again, I doubt he has time for such a small cut." Franky's smile far outshines her small sliver of teeth peaking from between her lips. He shuts the door to her quarters behind him. She sets her book down, a large gesture of openness admitted in a small movement. Franky walks to her only after she pushed herself up from her reclining position, her elbows gracefully moving her upward until she sits upright, legs tucked beneath her. 

Robin enjoys the look in his eyes, it's something akin to astonishment, adoring and surprised and fearful that this situation may slip between his fingers. She's learned to crush the same look from her expression. The bed dips as he sits beside her, rests a comically large, robotic hand over her earnestly flesh-and-blood own. Her sharp features cast angular shadows across her face, Franky wishes he could tilt her face up into the light, have those features illuminated, but he refrains. 

She rests her hand on his, ridiculous, chin, bringing their lips together gently, reverently, the same way one would kiss their lips upon the communion cup. He drinks her in in equal measure. They separate silently, honest, cyborg eyes connecting with stoic, ancient-looking ones. Franky thinks he could get lost in her eyes, but their gaze carries such a weight that he's never even able to handle looking too long. He doesn't bother trying now, letting his eyes flutter closed as he brings their lips together again. Robin's hair is soft against his smaller, robotic hand as he runs it through, feeling a chill run over her as cold metal reaches to cup the back of her neck at her hairline. 

It's not the first time they've done this, come together in grasping, fleeting moments because death seemed so eminent. It makes Robin feel like some dirty covetous, needing and never satisfied. She situates Franky against the headboard, leaning over his cumbersome body to kiss him, can't not be kissing him. His hands trace calming, meaningless patterns on her back. 

Robin decides now is not the time for calmness nor meaninglessness, now is the time for decisiveness, and she proves this. She proves it with her hands, she could have so many hands but two shall always suffice in these circumstances; nails sharp like knives, like daggers, could cut much deeper then the wound on her thigh, deeper, deeper, so much deeper down until she could cradle her lover's heart in her tainted hands and know it belong to no one but her. She proves it with her eyes, glaring and hawkish and with a gaze for the open rocking sea and not her lover's body. She proves it with her mouth, teeth dying to bite and rip away all that threatens her, tongue dying to cry and scream itself hoarse, lips dying to kiss and tell her solemn, angry truths to the world but are instead all preoccupied with the man in front of her's body, which she supposes conveys the message quite nicely.

Franky understands her actions, let's himself encourage and enjoy. Usually he is the one so stricken by emotion, and it's rare Robin's openness is so earnest and sincere; so he simply runs his hands gently, gently through her hair, keeps his grip gentle, gentle on her previously bleeding thigh, allows his lips to softly whisper words, sweet, gentle, gentle words against hers when she digs her teeth into his lip. He stokes her rage and fear with caring, tamping the flames by fueling them with what shall calm them, and he likes to think himself composed but he is so elated. His lovesickness he blatantly displays for her day-in and day-out translates to his heart soaring as she exposes hers to him. His hair forms a heart most every time he sees her, his real one beating faster as she works him into a frenzy. 

They two were intertwined since they were children, angry, vengeful children and they keep themselves intertwined as uncertain, frightened adults. 

Their sweat stains the air heady, stirring and swimming and disturbing the previous stillness. The weight of the place is not yet gone, a passive holiness replaced by a finite, definitive amen. So be it. 

Robin kisses his lips, sighing the contents of her empty lungs into his, eyes calm, like a sated animal. Franky's eyes speak of delight, love and joy and apprehension in an intoxicating mix. His arms come to hold her close. Her sharp features are almost completely shrouded in the shadow of her hair as she sits atop him, but they become illuminated as she sets her feet on the floor, successfully evading his attempt at physical comfort. 

"Not sticking around this week?" Franky's words break the silence that was suspended in the rapidly chilling air. 

"I told navigator-san I'd bring her a book on effects of volcanic activity on weather patterns." He can't bring himself to respond, merely watch in painful silence as she slips her skirt on and slips out the door. Sex with Robin is always super, but this part makes Franky's gut twist. He understands she needs to reclaim her stature, calm and cool-headed, but he wishes she would be weak with him while he feels so weak. He knows she loves him, or he thinks she does, she can never be anything but cryptic and guarded. He is usually secure that she loves him, with her kind words and kisses but something about the way she slinks out the door after they'd cheated death again makes him think otherwise. His heart tugs and sinks in his metal chest. His body is so tired, the recent fight and recent fuck exhausting his physical and mental resilience. 

The light in the bedroom is sinking, low light striking violent angles of shadow across the room. The room contains a stillness of a solemn moment, the only movement the creaking in-out up-down of Franky's chest. It holds the stillness that makes Franky feel like his heart itself has stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> Alt summary [aka a text I sent talking about this piece]: "It's like the presentation on how to write sex that's not sex and is literally just a bunch of symbolic mumbo-jumbo that alludes to them maybe doing the nakey-shakey." 
> 
> My tumblr's Barefootcosplayer if it interests you.


End file.
